Playing Hooky: A Whatif Scenario
by bobmcbobbob1
Summary: Christine needs more time for a decision not to be taken lightly. Knowing that the performance of Erik's opera is a pivoting point, she skips out, naturally changing everything. EC
1. A Solution

**The Usual stuff**: Yeah, I don't own these characters; credit there goes to M. Leroux and in this case Lord Andrew Lloyd Webber. At least I can manipulate them in my own little world. :)

**The Jist**: E/C romance (it's the way it should be, gall darn it), Musical/Movie up to a point here... you'll see what I mean... or actually I'll tell you now: Essentially, the idea here is what if Christine didn't perform in _Don Juan Triumphant_, hence why she's playing hooky. Needless to say, it changes the story a bit so I took it and ran with it. It's up to you to see if Imade itto the finish line or I strayed off into the lake by accident.

Without any further blabbering on my part...

**Playing Hooky: A what-if? Scenario**

"No, no. Don't make me go through this. I can't do it Raoul!"

Raoul stared at his fiancée, disbelieving his ears. Surely she wanted to see justice for the Phantom's crimes; why would she refuse? "Christine, Christine don't think that I don't care, but every hope and every prayer rests on you now." He took her into his arms, entirely unaware of the incredulous look across her face. _I beg your pardon? No, this isn't right; he'd risk my life so easily?_ By the time he untangled his arms, Christine pasted on a smile and he remained unperceptive. He took her hand and led her out of the small chapel.

"Come, you must change. The Phantom will soon be out of your life for good and this will be the last opera you'll ever have to perform. The Phantom's opera and then it's done."

He gave her a light peck on the cheek and grinned like a schoolboy before running out of the room, presumably to double check police placement. Christine realized her mouth was hanging open and she shut it hastily to avoid looking like a gaping cod. Surely she must have misheard. _Does he really believe that I want the Phantom at the mercy of the policemen? Is he never going to let me sing again?_ "Maybe I want to keep singing. Maybe I don't want the Phantom out of my life, Raoul," she spoke quietly to the empty room. "What's going to come of this night?"

_There has to be some way out of this. I can't betray the Phantom_―_Erik_―_like this. _Christine took another moment to analyze her feelings, the confusion more acute now than ever before. This man, known as a ghost to many, had done horrible things and there was no denying it. But Christine had seen the passion in his eyes when he composed his music, when he sang, and when his icy blue depths met her own brown eyes. Erik had given her a gift; he'd released her voice and taught her to sing, nay, to soar on wings of chords and melodies above the human world. He had given her his soul; was she now to throw all he'd done for her back in his face? _I just need more time, more time to figure out what to do._

The clock struck ominously in the corridors. There was no time to be had. Madame Giry burst through the door and bustled Christine off to her dressing room, fretting on the lateness of the hour. Once Christine began dressing, Madame Giry went off to see to her legion of ballerinas. Feeling the nausea rise in her stomach, she primped her hair one last time before exploring the small medicine cabinet. She found one concoction to soothe her restless butterflies then her eyes landed on something else: a solution.

Christine nearly laughed with glee. Here was the solution to her problems in this tiny vial. She remembered a time long ago, when she had first come to the opera house with a dreadful, hacking cough; Madame Giry had given her a tiny spoonful of a foul liquid and told her, "Yes, this will make you better but do not take it unless I give it to you. If you drink too much you'll be sick as a dog; you'll live but you'll be so ill you will scant be able to lift your head for three days"

_Perfect._

She hesitated momentarily, aware of all those she would be disappointing; Meg who requested emotional support for her solo dance in the second act, her managers, most certainly Erik, but more importantly Raoul and all the policemen waiting to capture the infamous Phantom. Part of her mind questioned her loyalty to Erik but her heart felt it couldn't be wrong. _No one could blame me for getting sick…_ Closing her eyes, she took a long swallow of the vial's contents, praying that she did not take too much. The liquid tasted as vile as she remembered and she sincerely hoped that it would take effect soon. Keeping all pretenses, she finished readying herself for the production. After the first two scenes of Act One, her character made her debut on stage and Christine sang as if the angels were listening. Under the bright lights, she began to sweat and thankfully a scene change gave her a few blessed moments of relief.

Madame Giry saw Christine's distress and noted on her abnormally pale complexion: "What is wrong, my dear?"

"I am not well, Madame Giry." And with that, Christine seized a nearby wastebasket and emptied her stomach. While tending to the girl, Mme Giry barked out her orders, sending a few lowly stagehands toward the manager's box. The crowd murmured in the darkness, curious as to the absurd length of the scene change. Moments later, Messieurs Andre and Firmin were by their star's side. Once brought to understanding, Firmin then dashed to the stage to make an announcement: "Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for the wait. Mademoiselle Daaé has taken ill. The production will resume shortly with our very own La Carlotta as the lead. Thank you for your patience and patronage." Carlotta was in ecstasy as she scampered off to the dressing room. Christine smiled grimly to herself; if she did not sing, Erik would not come and the police would not arrest him.

A booming voice filled the theater, "No! You dare defy my demands? What sort of trickery is this?" Amidst the confused murmurs, she could hear Raoul shouting his own commands.

Madame Giry looked at Christine, confused by her lack of concern in the matter but said nothing more as Christine heaved. Trusting her only to the most steadfast stagehands, she instructed that Christine be carried to her room. Meg followed the men and saw to Christine's comfort as best she could before returning to the stage.

Some time later, the door burst open and Raoul came in. "Damn him! He got away. Could you not hold out for two more scenes and―" He broke off when he saw how pallid his fiancée was. "Christine, are you truly ill?"

His selfish display was discouraging but she attempted to ignore it; he was after all to be her husband. "Yes, Raoul. And if you please, I'd like to get some rest."

He leaned in and kissed her forehead, "Of course, dearest. Should you need anything… I'll―I'll check up on you later." He slowly walked out of the room, gently closing the door behind him.

Christine couldn't help but sigh with relief. She whispered to the empty room, "Is he truly that obsessed with Erik?" Her ponderings were cut short when she vomited once more into an empty bin.

She was momentarily distracted by the damp cloth held to her brow but the convulsing muscles in her abdomen demanded her attention. Hands gently brushed her chestnut locks from her face and the cool cloth removed the cold sweat from her skin along with the heavy stage makeup. Her breath came ragged after the exertion, but she laid back on the cool pillows once more.

"Yes, Christine. I believe he is."

Christine shot up, shocked at hearing that voice, _that_ voice, in her room. She'd assumed that Madame Giry would find someone to watch over her but this was not who she expected to see in such a wretched state. Erik gently pushed her back down and resumed wiping her face. She tried to speak a few times but he shushed her soothingly.

"That opera was written for you, Christine. It would be a true tragedy to listen to La Carlotta butcher my opus." She couldn't help but chuckle and his deep, resonating tones joined her own.

"Are you still angry with me, Erik?"

His hand stilled on her brow and he didn't speak. The light from the candles in the room reflected off his white mask but she could not read his eyes in the poor light. "I do not know," he finally said in a quiet voice. Part of him still seethed since his eschew that cursed night by Apollo's lyre but he could not leave her like this; her helpless state tugged at his heartstrings. Nor he could not bring himself to tell her as much; obscurity was his ally for the moment.

Christine sank further into the down pillows, lost in the torrent of emotions. She wanted desperately to make amends with Erik, to smooth the rough patches between them, but simultaneously Raoul's warnings confused her. Erik was dangerous but he loved her… or at least had loved her.

The Phantom watched, mesmerized, as she closed her eyes and her brows furrowed. He placed the back of his hand to her forehead, feeling the heat radiating as her fever slowly grew in intensity. Tsking to himself, he continued to gaze sympathetically at her still form and apply the cool cloth to her face. Voices reverberated in the hallway, growing louder as the owners moved closer. Leaning in, Erik whispered urgently, "I'll come back." Christine's eyes shot open but he was already gone, disappearing into the shadows.

The tones in the hallway were piercing to Christine's pounding head; it sounded as they were right outside her door.

"I must object, Monsieur le Vicomte. Let her rest, worry about capturing the Phantom another day."

"May I see her?"

"No, it would not be proper."

"I'm sure she would have no objection. She's my fiancée!"

"Regardless, sir, _I_ must object." Madame Giry's voice left no room for argument. "I will watch over her myself tonight. Perhaps you will see her in the morning." She reached for the doorknob and shut the door before he could reject again. _The man nearly pouted, spoiled boy. _Huffing and glancing at the ceiling in her annoyance she shook her head before seating herself next to Christine. "That gentleman finds himself easily carried away, Christine. It blinds him, be careful." Christine gave a tiny nod before coughing harshly. "Dearie, what have you gotten yourself into?" Christine couldn't help but ruefully agree; surely a smaller sip would have done the job. Madame Giry took up the cloth that Erik had abandoned and Christine fell into an uneasy sleep.

**A/N:** More to come once I get editing again. Hope you enjoyed it.


	2. Thoughts

**The Usual stuff**: Yeah, I don't own these characters; credit there goes to M. Leroux and in this case Lord Andrew Lloyd Webber. At least I can manipulate them in my own little world. :)

Side Note: Yes, wendela, you're absolutely right. I had Christine know Eric's name just because it's awkward as all get out to refer to him all the time as "The Phantom" and I didn't end up writing that part in. (And many thanks to my buddy Susie Q)

ANYWAY... as Freidriek Nietzsche once said, "The author must keep his mouth shut when his work starts to speak." (although I'd still like to know how well my work articulatesfrom an unbaised source (i.e., not me))

This Authoress, signing off...

* * *

The solitude of his home left Erik alone with his thoughts, a mixed blessing. His plans had all come to naught. Tonight was to have been the night he claimed Christine for eternity, but nothing had gone according to plan. Not much had gone according to plan for a long time now; Christine had that effect. _Christine_. His mind cursed and caressed her name. All those walls around his heart for nothing, she shattered them all when he first heard her lift her voice to the heavens. That small smile or that impish glint in her eyes melted his resolve. And when she said his name… 

_No, none of that now. _Erik nearly screamed at his traitorous mind. _Have you forgotten she left you for the Vicomte? Treacherous snake left you for dead, the minx would rather be wealthy and pampered by a handsome face. An unmarred face. _He resumed his mask of confidence; hatred would keep him sane. But Erik knew that the loathing would soon fade, it always did, but a temporary relief was all he could muster on his own.

His window of opportunity had dissipated as soon as Christine fell ill so Erik set his mind to plots again. He scarce took in his direction, moving automatically through the dark, twisting passageways. Hopping over one of his carefully laid traps, he reached his destination. It was a small room only occasionally used by the opera's maintenance staff or those seeking a secluded corner. Nothing truly set the room apart from a closet but under Erik's hand an invisible door swung open. Here he kept what could not withstand the humidity of his home near the lake as well as other objects placed for easy access for when he surveyed the opera's rehearsals, insuring his commands were well-adhered to. Pausing briefly, he strained his ears for any unwelcome visitors. Smirking slightly, he resumed his search.

Erik had survived on his own for most of his life and absorbed much of basic first aid, from stitching vicious cuts to cleansing infections on his imperfect face. Reaching up involuntarily, he lightly ran his fingers over the bleached white mask; so many bad memories, so many screams. He recalled another time fingers had stroked that mask… then Christine had ripped it away. Wrenching his hand away, he snatched a small bottle from the cabinet and slammed the door.

_Don't lose the anger. Don't let her get in._ Erik knew in his heart that Christine had already saturated his soul. He wanted to forgive her, to believe those smiles, to have that true unconditional acceptance he had dreamt of. He wanted to understand how she got under the mask he presented to the world, how her laugh could dissolve his blazing fury, how a single glance could drench him with both hope and despair. His cogitation drifted from Christine to the well-trodden subject of self-loathing as he darted around the corners of the unending catacombs.

* * *

Christine prayed silently for relief as her stomach heaved again, bringing up nothing but air and occasionally bile. Madame Giry comforted the child to the best of her ability but no amount of soothing words could slake her need for inner peace. _Why is he so confusing? How does he do this to me? _Her mind switched then to her other problem. _Is this the real Raoul? Can he truly be so blind, so selfish? _Nothing made sense anymore. In her feverish state, the pounding questions blurred together in one collective drone, leaving her more distressed that any mere aliment. 

She mumbled in light delirium, "Maybe I'll go to the Americas and leave it all behind."

Mme Giry glanced at Christine curiously before registering the feverish effect of disorientation. What was going through the girl's head she could not begin to fathom, perhaps it was safer that way. Shushing her quietly, Mme Giry felt for her temperature again as her brows furrowed in worry, Christine's body was not cooling. All that was left was to wait for the fever to break, nothing else could be done.

She patted Christine's hand gently before rising to exit the room; it was going to be a long night. Upon returning to her small office, she gathered what supplies she could.

"Good evening, Madame Giry."

She uttered an undignified squawk as Erik's voice shattered the silence. He emerged from the shadows in a manner that would seem menacing to most but Mme Giry allowed herself to relax her heightened nerves.

"I hate it when you do that."

His mouth quirked into a brief half-smile, "I know."

Were he any other being besides the aloof and maniacal Phantom of the Opera, she would have used her short stature to tower over him as she'd so practiced with disobedient ballerinas, but here she could only roll her eyes at the antics of this strange acquaintance. "How can I help you?"

"Give this to Christine." He stretched out his hands: one held a small packet of herbs and the other a tiny vial. "It should help."

Mme Giry hesitated, hands wavering over the items; this was the man obsessed with Christine yet avoided her religiously for the past three months. His countenance had changed since she had last seen him, his confidence still shaky yet his air of command had reinstated itself since the last time he'd visited her, after the Masquerade Ball. What was going on inside his head? She did not know what to think. In the end, she took the items out of concern for Christine. Erik nodded solemnly but his expression was otherwise as unreadable as marble.

Perceptive as always, she called out to him before he evaporated into the veil of darkness, "I suggest you talk to her."

* * *

The sheets twisted around Christine as she squirmed in an uneasy sleep. _She was on stage, resplendent in her costume and the warm glow of the gas lights. Raising her voice, she was Aminta once more. Piangi sang his next lines…only the voice did not belong to him. Instead it was Erik himself who dashingly swung the cape around his shoulders, singing, rather glorifying, his art. Stunned, Christine fought to fall back into character. The brazen passion in his voice was unmistakable, stealing her breath away with each perfect note. She commanded her thoughts away from his striking figure and powerful voice to avoid missing her cue. This was her moment to shine. Responding with equal ardor, she sang out her lines with all the backing of her heart, just the way he had taught her. His step faltered slightly but as always his emotions were heavily concealed; her only clue was the fire in his fierce sapphire eyes. Ascending the stairs, she felt minor trepidation, fully realizing Raoul was watching along with several armed men. She glanced up at Erik again and found herself nearly consumed by fear. Would her prediction come true? Would Erik capture her, never again to see the light of day? In her distress, none of her thoughts formed any coherency. Desperate, she reached up and removed his mask, his face for the audience to behold. _

_Oh, and behold they did. Shrieks, frightened murmurs, rumbling footsteps while the mob rushed for an exit. The sounds were crashing down around them, each another dagger of betrayal wedged into Erik's spine and another scar on his face. Something snapped then, something snapped in his mind. Furiously and frantically, he worked the trap door and nearly dragged her back to his kingdom of music, all the while cursing his blasted luck; happiness was again just out of his reach. _

Christine jerked out of the dream, grimacing under what it could mean and wondering vaguely what could have happened if she'd gone through with the Phantom's opera. Fighting her sagging eyelids and the clouds that hazed her mind, she sent up a brief prayer of gratitude, never wishing the fate of the dream-Erik on anyone.

* * *

"_I suggest you talk to her."_ Erik's mind repeated Mme Giry's words as he strode down the winding paths. He then made his best effort to evict the advice from his thoughts. _Fool woman, what does she know about this? With Christine, nothing is simple._ _Talking_. Talking would possibly be the worst thing he could do. He'd drop his guard and Christine would know she was forgiven; then he would only be crushed again. _Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. Still, maybe just maybe…_ with a will of iron, he pushed any light of optimism firmly out of his head. 

His stony features reflected his inner resolve as he opened the door to his lair once more, pleading that sleep would claim him soon and release him from this depression.

* * *

Raoul paced nervously in his opulent manor. Had his mother been alive, she would have complained that he would wear through the Persian rug but the memory fluttered into his mind only briefly, pushed aside by more pressing matters. The plans he'd made that night had all come to naught; Christine would still be haunted by the Phantom and he would have to continually delay planning their wedding to accommodate her whims while the Phantom still roamed free. Raoul ran a hand over his face, surveying his options. The longer Christine impeded on readying for matrimony, the more stage time she would see; the more productions she participated in, the less higher levels of society thought of her; the less the general public praised this woman of the theater, the less inheritance he would receive from his ailing uncle. He was devoted to Christine, down to his soul, and he felt he could never care for anyone as much as he adored her, but his financial future was at stake with her scandalous behavior. 

Audibly ordering himself to relax, he sank into the couch and reached for another glass of brandy. Resting his head, he closed his eyes and prayed silently that Christine would recover soon, fearing for her frail body. _She'll be all right_. After failing to convince himself immediately, he rose and ordered his coach.

* * *

Unable to escape his depression and annoyance, Erik observed through the mirror: Mme Giry had done as he'd asked and Christine fell into an easier sleep. Soon, Mme Giry slumped in her chair, the fatigue drawing at her strength. Erik, much accustomed to days without sleep, watched the pair for a few more moments before marching off with a swish of his cape. 

He stalked around the grandeur of the Opera Populaire, regarding everything in turn and making certain all was in its proper place. He stopped when he found something obviously out of its place: Raoul de Chagny stood guard over Christine's door, fending off sleep and losing slowly. _What's the fop doing here?_ Erik questioned only briefly before he grimaced slightly. _Of course_, he thought as his features darkened. The hope in his chest, though he never realized its growth, shriveled as he watched the handsome Vicomte settle into a chair by the door and yawn widely, still fighting to hold his head up. _It would be so easy. It would be so easy just to slip a rope around his neck now…_ He restrained himself; it was not sporting to defeat his rival like this, not when Christine was ill. She would not wish to learn of any more victims under his hands either.

The Vicomte's eyes closed and Erik's lips twisted into a grimly delighted smile, he could at least have a little fun…

**

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A/N: **

Well there you have it, part the next. I'm on an editing frenzy so it's concievable that I'll have yet another chunk up before the end of the weekend... but please don't hold me to that, just in case. :) 


	3. In the Eye of the Beholder

**The Usual: **Yeah, I don't own these characters; credit there goes to M. Leroux and in this case Lord Andrew Lloyd Webber. At least I can manipulate them in my own little world. :)

Side Note: Thank you **so** much to those who have taken time to add a review. It really makes my day. I hope I won't disappoint any of you with the next chunky here.

I'm also hoping to put up some of the other one I'm working on soon but it's the end of the quarter and my teachers are trying to see what they can cram in before grades are due. (Next year, it'll be midterms instead so I won't complain too much). We'll see how much my computer cooperates, it was having a mini-siezure earlier today...

Happy reading everyone.

Anyway... enough of that... read.

* * *

The next morning, Christine and Madame Giry awoke with a start as strangled yelps and yells erupted from the hallway.

"Help! Somebody, anybody! Help!" The screams were most unbecoming for the Vicomte de Chagny as he pleaded desperately without thought toward dignity. Mme Giry burst out of the room and gawked at what she saw, suppressing laughter as best she could.

The Vicomte, for it was he under layers of stage makeup, was far from comfortable; almost in reaching distance from the edge of the stairs, he twisted madly in the ropes that held him precariously over the three story drop. His face camouflaged pasty white with splotches of brilliant color, he looked the part of a clown, all the way to a red nose, but for the costume. A mirror had been suspended in front of him, his own face being the first thing he saw when he woke up that morning… the floor several feet below him was the second. Ropes swathed about his body, some holding his wrists, others across his torso and more binding his feet. Each time he moved one rope, another part of his body jerked as if he were some sick human marionette. Raoul squirmed and thrashed but his efforts only succeeded in tightening his restraints. His eyes widened and his breathing became rapid and shallow once he realized that the rope about his neck was indeed rather taunt, indenting into the skin.

Christine made her way to the door, her sickly face nearly as pale as Raoul's powdered one. After she'd witnessed her fiancé's state, her strength gave out and she collapsed. Mme Giry ripped her eyes from Raoul and saw Christine back to her bed. Raoul's breathing had moderated but the veins in his arm and neck jutted out from his skin as his muscles refused to relax in his distress.

"I beseech you to calm down, Monsieur le Vicomte. The ropes will continue to tighten the more you squirm."

He didn't reply, other than a tiny nod, nor did he make a quip on his own discovery of the validity of her statement. Mme Giry made the call to arms and soon several stage hands, from the prop masters and scenery painters to those who raised the heavy curtain, rushed to Raoul's aid. Many snickered, some made efforts to hide their mirth, others grinned openly, and Raoul's eyes shone with anger and mortification.

Cutting the ropes was a tricky business as some were still attached for their original purpose, whatever it may have been. When the rope about Raoul's neck was cut, a large thunk echoed from the stage as a scene from Act Two crashed to the floor. A few ballerinas proved ample acrobats and scaled the ropes along with some of the men, in efforts to disentangle rather than slash thoughtlessly. When another rope about his chest was severed, the squeak of pulleys proved the only warning before Raoul was swiftly flipped upside-down, sending several of those around him scrabbling to grip another rope. Mme Giry ordered her ballerinas down for the rest of the rescue. The Vicomte's face flushed as time slowly passed; the men were taking no more chances.

Some two hours later, Raoul finally placed his feet on the ground again. The crowd cheered lightly, some laughing openly at the ridiculous nature of the whole situation. Raoul praised his rescuers before stalking off, eager to clean off his painted and sweat-streaked face.

Christine received updates on Raoul's condition when Mme Giry felt something had occurred of importance, certain that the girl would be concerned for his safety. Christine was at a loss; oh, she wanted to laugh, the whole ordeal was insane, but she knew it was wrong to laugh at Raoul's expense. Once Raoul had been freed and reportedly left, Christine enjoyed a few moments of unrestrained laughter until her physical state lead her into exhausted slumber. Before she had entirely allowed herself consumed by sleep, she swore she could hear soft tones of laughter rumble from behind the mirror.

* * *

Raoul grumbled furiously to himself, ignoring the stares of the driver. He felt each pair of eyes that followed him from the opera house and thanked God that he had found his coach quickly. He covered his face as best he could, willing the world not to see his disgrace. The journey seemed an eternity but he soon burst through the door of his home as if the devil were at his heels. His servants discreetly performed what their duties, making no references the master's bizarre appearance; Raoul knew they would gossip for the next week. Scowling, he scrubbed vigorously at his face as if wishing to wash away the embarrassment. He detested heights, feeling a wave of nausea each time he climbed those rickety stairs. The bath he'd ordered was still warm after he was finished with his face and he discovered several bruises from his ordeal. 

He clenched his teeth, disregarding the pain in his jaw. There was no doubt in his mind; the Opera Ghost had performed this little prank, probably seeing it as rather funny.

_He will pay_.

* * *

Erik found the Vicomte's reaction deliciously funny. He'd noticed Raoul's unease on stairs before, politely refusing to take the outer path, and even that dreadful night on the roof when he'd stolen Christine the boy never strayed too close to the edge. His suspicion proved true and Raoul was indeed terrified by heights. Oh, but what truly pleased him was Christine's amusement. A tintinnabulation of giggles and mirth, he felt there was no better sound in the world than Christine's laughter, branching off of her symphonic voice. If every word from his lips could induce such joy, he vowed he would speak forever. 

On behalf of the patron of the Opera Populaire, Mme Giry reprimanded all the wagging tongues speaking on Raoul's rude awakening; Erik took advantage of her absence and stole out of the mirror to speak with Christine. Her color was returning slowly and he sat by her as she slept, adoring her despite his own warnings. _She's betrayed you, she would marry the Vicomte, she will leave you broken hearted, she will leave you with nothing but bitter memories, she will never reciprocate your love, she would never agree to marry you, she would never raise your children …but God she looks like an angel when she sleeps. _His mind, a cavalcade of conflicting emotions, refused to rest. _It's simply not fair, she wins by sleeping_. Sighing resignedly, Erik raised her hand to his lips and rose. Without warning, the door sprang open. Grateful for the dark room and his general wardrobe of black, he quickly withdrew into the shadows and hid behind the dressing screen. Meg, brimming with brio as always, rushed to her friend's side. Christine struggled to sit up, awakened by the thunderous noise as the door thudded heavily into the wall.

"What's wrong, Meg?" Christine's voice was weak and Meg appropriately docked her normal enthusiasm.

"Nothing is wrong, per say, but did you hear what happened to the poor Vicomte?"

Christine grinned prettily and the mirth in her eyes glimmered in the candlelight. "I saw some of it, yes." Both girls began giggling and soon erupted into raucous laughter, until Christine began to cough.

Determined to conquer her physical weakness, she pressed Meg to continue: "I imagine Raoul didn't take it well?"

"Goodness, no! His face was purple he was so mad, and with all the makeup it was no easy task." She chuckled again and went on, "He very nearly ran for the door, growling like a caged beast. I think there will be serious repercussions from this. Do you believe it was the Phantom again?"

Christine smiled knowingly, "Yes, Meg, I do."

"Aren't you afraid?"

Christine thought for a moment and responded diffidently, "I don't think he would hurt Raoul, at least not in that setting."

"I meant for you, Christine, are you not worried, for your own safety?"

Christine was caught, forced to answer somehow, "No Meg, I'm not. He's never done anything to directly harm me. I don't think he ever would."

"How can you be so sure?"

"You mustn't tell anyone, but even as I've been sick he's come to see me."

Meg's eyes widened, "Then- then—"

"Yes Meg, some of the gossip is true." Meg looked down at her hands for a moment, curiosity bubbling within her. Christine sighed, "What do you want to know, Meg?"

She met Christine's eyes briefly then imposed her question: "Christine, why does he wear the mask? What's the real reason?"

Half-expecting the question, Christine nodded slowly before coughing and answering her friend. "Meg, he wears a mask because he's afraid to show the world who he really is. He's been rejected all his life, Meg; try to understand what that's like. He is a genius, a polymath, a true Renaissance man but an unfortunate scarring has left Erik alone in the dark shadows of this opera house."

"Erik. Is that his name?"

Christine bit her tongue, cursing herself for saying too much. "Yes, Meg, but you must not breathe a word of this to anyone." Meg looked questioningly at Christine, breaking down what she had really said, before swearing she would tell no one. "Was there something else you wanted to tell me?"

Meg suddenly recalled the reason for her earlier haste, "Oh my word, I nearly forgot. The Vicomte is on his way and he's still in quite a temper. He was stabling his horses when I overheard him talking to Maman. He's off to meet with the managers then to talk with you. I'll go fetch him."

She dashed out of the room before Christine could say another word. After several minutes of waiting, she soon felt the effects of her weakness again and began to nod off.

Erik stirred slightly behind the screen, creeping out slowly. Tears glimmered on his unmarred cheek and the polished surface of his pure white mask as aspiration beyond hope, rekindled and alive, filled his body. In his eyes, Christine truly was an angel. With a quick flourish of his hand, he produced a rose of such a deep hue it was nearly black and placed it on her bedside table. Glancing back one last time with a bemused smile on his face, the Phantom of the Opera disappeared behind the mirror.

* * *

Unfortunately, Erik was not the only one to overhear Meg and Christine's brief conversation, nor was he the only one to pick up the hidden meaning in Christine's defense of Erik's deformity. _Erik, the thing has a name and she never told me_. These new revelations added fuel to the flames of his rage. Raoul was no longer certain whether his idea to check on Christine first was a wise decision: surely he wanted to know more of his fiancée but perhaps ignorance would have been bliss compared to the crushing guilt, jealousy, and anger he felt now. 

His stormy mood was noted by Firmin and Andre in the emergency meeting Raoul had called but they said nothing, already aware of the latest gossip. Soon, he set his new plan before them to be carried out when circumstances would allow and again Christine would be bait…

* * *

**A/N:** Dun dun duuuunnn. Suspense! Well obviously Raoul's a little ticked here but the next part may not be for a few days (I can't always keep up such a frequent update speed, sorry), but I'll do my best. 


	4. Confessions

**The Usual stuff**: Yeah, I don't own these characters; credit there goes to M. Leroux and in this case Lord Andrew Lloyd Webber. At least I can manipulate them in my own little world. :)

Yet another chunk for those of you out there. This chapter is mostly some bonding time between Erik and Christine. I really hope I don't get too far from the character here; if I do, I'm going to claim that love changes everyone.So there. ;)

Again and again, thank you **SO** much to everyone who's put in a review. (not only do they make me smile but I'm more liable to update) I'd thank you all personally but I don't trust my computer to holdout that long... it's been kinda quirky lately. Special one for wendela though who keeps sending them. Thank you all.

And now without further adue...

* * *

Unaware of the plot forming about her, Christine slept peacefully, willing her body to heal and forget the dreadful potion she had taken. She vowed silently never to drink from that vial again; playing hooky wasn't worth the anguish… or maybe it was. Erik was safe and she was free to return to her old worries, a mixed blessing: what was she to do? One the handsome prince and the other the proclaimed monster, each professing to care for her above all else, but what is the real measure of man and monster? _It's all a frightful mess, there's no way to win. Why do I have to choose? Must I be the inamorata of _two _such men_? Christine pounded her pillow in frustration but did not force any other unnecessary efforts; Erik's medicines, for surely they had come from him, had helped but she still felt like a weak kitten that had just escaped drowning, though she was still drowning. 

Sighing heavily, she threw her arm over her eyes as if to shield herself from the blinding urgency of her dilemma. She felt like screaming.

A gentle knock on the door disturbed her cogitation and she welcomed the interruption as well as whoever was on the other side with a brief, "Come in."

Raoul entered the dark room slowly and sat down heavily on the chair beside her bed. His discomfort was palpable but Christine did not ask, his ordeal would have been enough to disturb any man's stasis. He continued to shift in his seat before attempting to speak.

"Are you feeling better, Christine?" It seemed only proper to ask about his fiancée but Raoul fought biting jealousy down in order to form the words. His reason and emotions battled heatedly, one beseeching him not to jump to conclusions and the other proclaiming he ought to trust his instincts.

Christine's pale face was drawn but she replied with a weak smile, "Yes, I believe the worst is over. It's just a matter of time." She bit her tongue, fighting the question she wished to ask him but soon lost the struggle. "And have you recovered from the morning's excitement?"

Raoul looked at the floor, further enraged by the fresh memory. _Excitement, that's putting it a bit lightly. _"Still a little shaken." _And terrified, and mortified, and fuming, and vehemently wishing to choke the life from 'Erik's throat, and..._ Raoul was surprised by his own thoughts; he was normally never so malicious. He blamed this new development on the Phantom; in Raoul's eyes, the Phantom was to blame for most everything.

Christine pulled her head away slightly, leaving Raoul to question if it had truly been a smile that graced her lips. Rising from his chair, he gently laid a kiss on her forehead. Before he shut the door, he whispered, "I love you."

His spirit continued to wage war on his conscience. Without a doubt he cared about Christine beyond understanding but his forced silence weighed heavily on his mind. She had no idea, she couldn't, on what plans he had nor what was tormenting him. Raoul resolved on his decision then, he was willing to walk through hell to save Christine.

* * *

The lady herself puzzled over Raoul's visit. Duplicity of some sort was involved, she could feel it. And she could feel something else… 

"Erik, you can come in."

Erik gave a start, how had she known? Slowly he emerged from behind the mirror, erasing his shock and carefully settling into his normal air. He had debated for sometime on whether or not to return and risk another visit; the fearless Phantom of the Opera felt his courage wane on facing Christine. He was just about to enter when the Vicomte strode into the room. He observed the entire situation and gripped the tiny parcel in his hand to steady himself from murderous thoughts. Erik was relieved that Raoul had chosen a short visit and reorganized his thoughts and what he'd rehearsed in his head to say; he forgot all his carefully chosen phrases when he saw her silky brown locks splayed out on her pillow. Erik longed to run his hands through that hair but refocused on the small parcel in his hand.

"I thought this ought to be returned to you." He held the package out to her, refusing to watch her reaction.

"Raoul's ring." She said nothing more but held the chain up; the stones glimmered in the candle light.

"Yes," he stated simply. "I had no right to take it. Nor did I wish to continue looking at it." He chanced a glance at her, she did not place the ring on her finger but instead placed it on the bedside table where the rose he'd given her sat in a glass of water; Erik took all this in, feeling new courage and throwing off his encumbering caution. "And I wanted to speak with you."

Christine merely watched him and bade him to continue. "I had every intention of stealing you after the curtain call of _Don Juan Triumphant_, taking you away from the world—from the Vicomte—to live…to live with me." Christine was stunned, not merely on the revelation but rather that the Phantom of the Opera had confessed it. He'd never in her knowledge felt the need to explain himself and she thought quickly trying to absorb his frank truth. "I couldn't bear the thought of losing you, Christine. To lose the only light in my life of darkness would be truly devastating." She let out a small sound but Erik pressed on regardless. "I've regained some of my senses now, although nothing about this entire matter makes any real sense. Even had I succeeded in avoiding all the guards—yes, I knew the patron had them strategically placed—and brought you down to my home there would be two problems: first, if Raoul was true he would try to free you, as I would if the situation were reversed, and second that I could never force you to love me. I just prayed beyond reason that maybe you could care for me. Few have heart enough to love on their own. I adore you, Christine. I love you." He took her hand and kissed it gently. The next part would be more difficult and he could not deny that he prayed she would refute him: "If the Vicomte has been lucky enough to secure your affections, then I must step aside though it will take every shred of will and even then the gentlemanly thing to do will never be easy, to give up such an angel."

Erik turned away, burning tears threatening to escape.

Christine's voice was shaken by her own tears, "Oh, Erik. I don't know what to think anymore."

Momentarily relieved that she had not shunned him for his intent, Erik reached into his pocket and pulled out another precious parcel. "I request you will accept this gift Christine, with all my love."

She accepted it from him with shaking hands. She took the ring out and surveyed it carefully. No diamonds but a simple blue sapphire set in gold, lovely, simple, and unique. "Erik I—I…" Words failed Christine so she concluded with what was proper: "Thank you." She slipped the ring on her finger, handling it fondly.

"It suits you."

"Where did you get it?" she breathed.

Erik smiled, "it took some time to find the right one."

Christine looked back to the ring, its value increasing in her eyes. Erik had braved the Parisian streets and peering eyes to look for this. "Thank you," she breathed again.

Erik smiled once more and kissed her hand delicately.

Christine grinned weakly, "I suppose I should make a confession of my own, it seems only fair." For the briefest of moments, Erik froze but allowed her to continue unhindered. "I'm not really sick."

"But then—"

"Oh no, I don't mean to say I intended to stay bed-ridden just for fun. That was an unfortunate result. I took something from my medicine cabinet to make myself sick."

Erik was perplexed, "Why?" Anger rose in his chest, "Could you not bear to perform _my _opera?"

Christine bit her tongue, cursing her impulsiveness, "No, nothing like that. I was afraid." Erik, calmed, coaxed her gently and she continued, "First off, I was certain that if the opera ended as planned you would indeed take me to your lair and I didn't want my freedom stolen away." He scowled slightly and turned away, though he'd already admitted as much earlier. Christine plowed on, "If I was not down in your world, Raoul would not allow me to sing." Erik blanched at the thought of Christine's voice caged by a title. "By the end of the opera, I would be restricted one way or another. But more importantly, I did it because I wanted to protect you."

Erik dared a look into her eyes again and they sparkled with unshed tears. "Protect me?"

"Erik, if they'd caught you, I don't know what they'd do. I don't know what I'd do. Some would give their right hand to capture you and I can't begin to imagine what sorts of torture they'd have in mind. It just wasn't safe."

"Then again, performing on stage with a murderer is far from advisable," he grinned ruefully. "I never would have let you set foot from your dressing room, Christine. I'd never do anything to hurt you."

Pulling herself to a more elevated position, Christine boldly ran her fingers through Erik's raven hair. "I know," she said in a calm voice. He closed his eyes under her touch, savoring the sensation. He opened his eyes involuntarily as he felt a slight pressure on his mask. In response to the question in her eyes, he gave a small nod. With a gentle tug, Christine removed Erik's mask and placed her hand on the angry and twisted skin. She continued to caress his face gently and he stifled a sob as he placed his own hand over hers; he'd always dreamt of a moment like this, Christine looked at him without fear but instead an entirely different emotion. His hopes had entered the realm of reality.

Her eyes still sparkled in the dim light, but a few errant tears glimmered on her cheeks. Erik's vision clouded and he realized tears of his own were brimming in his eyes. Forcefully pulling his mind away, he knew that Mme Giry would be checking on her charge soon but he never wished to leave Christine's presence again. It could not be helped. With all the will he could muster, he decided that he had to leave.

He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "You should rest. I'll come back later. I promise." She nodded lightly as didn't trust her voice to answer. Erik tilted his head to kiss her cheek. But Christine surprised him once again: she turned her head and met his lips. Erik was shocked at first but only at first; he felt the warmth of a strange peace in his chest. It was perfect.

With increasing chagrin, Erik pulled away and wistfully glanced back one more time before exiting behind the mirror.

* * *

**A/N**: Awww... 

Well, I hope this came out well; it was one of two really difficult parts to write and even still I'm not entirely certain it didn't come out awkward (I guess I'll find out when some of those biting complaints come :)ah well...).

What's to come: I have Spring Break next week here (Woo Hoo!) so the gameplan is to have the next chunk for this one relatively soon (we'll get to Raoul's plot) and, if I can get myself editing again amidst hanging out with buddies, I'll put up the first part to the other one I've been working on.

Take care everyone


	5. Discoveries and an Invitation

**The Usual stuff**: Yeah, I don't own these characters; credit there goes to M. Leroux and in this case Lord Andrew Lloyd Webber. At least I can manipulate them in my own little world. :)

**In addtion**: I don't own Jane Austen's _Pride and Prejudice_ or any of the characters therein. I just love that book to death and brought it up as a forshadowing thing amongst others (besides the fact that I wanted to drag it in somehow). I tried to explain parts briefly there for those of you unfamilar with the book (shame shame, you should read it). Very good story.

Author's normal blabble-fest: Ugh... _lead me, save me from my servitude_, I've been reading phanfics amongst cleaning today and a couple other choresand thought it was time to put up another chunk... unless I hear any objections... :)

I wanted to respond individually to everyone who reviewed on the last chapter (as you all rock and my computer is being less screwy):

Witchy-grrl: Glad to hear you enjoy it.Hopefully kiss was a catalyst for more to come, eh:) Thank you!

galabalesh: Wow... my first threat! (cowers slightly before drawing self up to full, though not really tall, height, all the while grinning). _Evil _is all in how you look at it. :) I don't think I made him "evil" persay but as Madame Giry said earlier, Raoul gets carried away; his heart's in the right place, he's just going about things wrong. (Plus, he doesn't do his own dirty work anyway). ;) But I did add a couple of things in and he does redeem himself...somewhat... in the end. Thank you!

midnightangel38: yes, harmless fun at Raoul's expense is a treat, glad you liked it! also glad it didn't come out as awkward, thank you!

Susie Q: (or Siseo, whichever name you're going by today). As always, a treat my friend. Will never tire of your ramblings, constructive or otherwise. (Ttttthhhhhh) Thank you!

MagickAlianne: Glad to see you enjoy it. :) I figured it was only fair that you updated yours, I should do likewise. Thank you!

A collective thanks again to everyone who reviewed on the last chapter, and all the others for that matter. It totally makes my day.

**Now **enough of my ramblings, read!

* * *

Upon re-entering the waking world, Christine replayed the last few moments of consciousness in her mind. She could still feel his hand over her own. She could still hear the breathy whisper flutter next to her ear. She could still remember the warmth of his lips… 

Christine nearly giggled with the guilty memory but stopped short when she caught the sight of Raoul's ring on the small bedside table. This was infidelity, she was engaged.

_But to whom?_

Christine looked at Erik's ring on her finger, then at Raoul's ring; two beautiful gifts from two loving men but she could only accept one. Her brio slipped from her mind completely, _now_ what was she to do? She raised a hand to her lips as if to trap the sensation; Erik's kiss had been pure, exhilarating, and Raoul… she turned her head in shame. To compare two such men in this way surely was a sin. _Now I'm in even deeper, is there no end? Why me? _

Growling with frustration, she closed her eyes and prayed for guidance. If she had trusted her legs to carry her, she would visit her father's grave and ask his spirit. With some effort, Christine pulled herself to a sitting position. She already knew what her father would say and the line could have easily been a missing lyric to a song from her past: know thyself and follow your heart.

Christine knew that this was no light manner she faced. She compared the two rings as she mentally compared the personalities of the two men. Raoul was normally sweet when not taken in by some new idea and she had known him since childhood to be kind and amiable. On the other hand there was Erik who was aloof yet passionate, willing to go to any lengths to make her happy, even murder, (while the prospect was flattering it was terrifying) but nothing could make Christine forget the nights he had reached out to her and brought her voice to level beyond which she had ever dreamed.

_What a wretched, wretched mess_. Christine longed for some form of mental escape, something to occupy her mind from the fainéant activities she'd chosen to pass the time, those being sleeping and staring at the ceiling. She glanced over at the chair by the bed and noticed a small stack of books for the first time. On top was a rose of such a deep red that it was nearly black, tied with a dark satin ribbon.

She smiled at Erik's thoughtfulness, picked up the top book, and read the title: _Pride and Prejudice_. Despite the English setting, she soon found herself immersed in the world of the Bennet sisters, especially that of Elizabeth and, once introduced, Christine labeled Mr. Darcy as Erik for their similarities in mysterious and aloof nature. She was surprised to discover Mr. Darcy was falling in love with Elizabeth and furthermore that she seemed unaware of it; there was an uncanny mirroring in vague terms. Then Elizabeth was introduced to Mr. Wickham, a man of genial manners, and he was soon mentally marked as Raoul. Some time later, the tedium of the hours caught up with her and she fell asleep again, despite a good story.

* * *

Madame Giry saw to Christine as often as she could but much was left to ready for the next performance. She had not had a chance to speak with her as Christine spent much of her time asleep. Mme Giry had noticed the new additions to Christine's room and made her own conclusions with a secret smile, still wishing to understand from the girl's own mouth. Her smile disappeared as she set down a small tray laden with a light meal. There were still some serious matters to discuss. Raoul was up to something. She prayed that Christine had some inkling to the plan's existence, whatever it may entail; surely it would not end well if successfully carried out. 

Checking Christine's temperature, she was pleased to see that it had indeed regulated but her body would still be weak from the exertion. She saw no reason for Christine to be bedridden much longer…unless she enjoyed the excuse.

She rose quickly from her seat, acknowledging that there was still work to be done.

* * *

Raoul watched as Mme Giry left before walking into Christine's room. He glanced at the food tray, glad to see that his fiancé was provided for, and then took in the new adornments on the table. First he raised the chain holding his ring to the light and noticed that it coruscated just as brightly as when he'd first bought it, thinking of it gracing Christine's hand. He also took notice of the roses with the signature black satin ribbon and felt his inner peace caving in to jealous anger once more. Reaching for her hand, he sought to place his gift back where it belonged. 

He froze. The blue sapphire glimmered innocently on her ring finger. He nearly threw her arm down in disgust but instead stalked lividly out of the room.

* * *

Erik reflected joyfully on the last few days. After he had bared his heart to Christine with the impossible hope that she would renounce her fiancé, he had visited her several times and on each instance she still wore his ring; it was a simple act on her part but his spirits soared on all the implications. He could scarce care for what Raoul was up to skulking about the opera house; he had only visited Christine on two brief occasions that he was aware of, each with strained conversation and an uncomfortable distance visible in their body language. 

He smiled again as he compared that quiet unease to the genial comfort he shared with Christine. Even as he thought back to several days ago, he could sense a difference; however grudgingly he may admit it, Christine slowly started the process of extracting him from his shell that he never fully realized existed. He felt a security and confidence he never knew was possible, growing almost careless as he roamed the passageways of the opera house, lost in his enthusiasm. Only when he returned to his lair did any doubts or demands that he guard himself flitter into his mind, but he soon shoved them from his mind. Everything had changed.

In his new mood he set his mind to composing one of the first cheerful tunes he'd ever created. He glanced at a small pocket watch; Madame Giry would return to her other duties soon. Erik's eyes sparkled with anticipation as he replaced the watch and hurried back to the mirror.

He glanced through the glass and watched the pair; Mme Giry stood by Christine's side as she hobbled around the room unaided and with only minor problems. His heart swelled with pride as she made her way around the room. A couple rounds later, Mme Giry left and Erik coughed softly to make his presence known.

He relished in the glow that filled her flushed face. "Come in, Erik."

Erik acted as bid and brushed his lips on her hand, his eyes flickered briefly to the ring that still rested on her precious finger. "Good afternoon, Christine. How does my lady fare?"

"Bored, I must admit. I've grown too accustomed to these walls. I'd like to leave this room, but then again this leisure time is rather nice."

Erik gestured to the books, "I see you've been reading more of _Pride and Prejudice_."

"Yes, I've found myself quite taken with it. Poor Mr. Darcy, everyone seems to have misjudged him." Her original comparison resurfaced, Erik had known this injustice for much of his life.

"I'm glad to see you enjoy it. It's one of my favorites. But, now we must be sure your voice does not suffer from the tedium." With that, Erik led her in a series of simple warm-ups, those he had taught her long ago. Truly Christine's voice was the essence of music to the trained and loving ears of Erik. Some time later when she finished an easy piece, they resumed conversation.

"Since you're tired of these walls, I propose that we visit Apollo's Lyre on the roof and survey all of Paris. Then you can either return to these same four walls or I can take you to a new setting and you can see what I've been working on."

She grinned, "That would be lovely, Erik."

Shifting his weight, Erik leaned in. Christine responded and met his lips once more as they deepened the kiss, lost in each other and the promise of later.

When the couple pulled apart, Erik spoke in a breathy voice, "I'll come back."

Thinking of no worthy response, Christine stroked his hair gently. He tenderly kissed her cheek before fading behind the mirror.

Christine sighed contentedly.

* * *

Raoul nearly put his fist in his mouth to bite back his frustration. Christine's song had saturated the stagnant air of the opera house and he felt himself drawn to her room…only to discover his fiancée was far from alone. That _monster_ was there: _"Since you're tired of these walls, I propose that we visit Apollo's Lyre on the roof and survey all of Paris. Then you can either return to these same four walls or I can take you to a new setting and you can see what I've been working on."_ The words replayed in his head and his mouth twisted in disgust; there was little mistaking his intentions. But to make matters worse his fiancée, his Christine, was willing. He vowed he would not let her character be compromised through bewitchment. 

After the words echoed again in his mind, his grim anger abruptly changed to a smirk. _Perhaps I could use this to my advantage_…

* * *

Authoress who can't shut-up-ness: More to come! reviews are, as always, welcome.What's to come: Christine and Erik's night out and what comes of it. 

:sniff: I'm actually nearly finished with this phanfic,the bittersweetness flows in...

Until next time.


	6. A Song in the Moonlight

**The Usual stuff**: Yeah, I don't own these characters; credit there goes to M. Leroux and in this case Lord Andrew Lloyd Webber. At least I can manipulate them in my own little world. :) Also do not own Jane Austen's _Pride and Prejudice_, merely mentioned characters. (some foreshadowing and comparisons, some I just wanted to bring in another great book, some I needed to give Christine something to do while she waited)

**A/N**: Again, thank yous to all those who've taken time to review. (I have them saved in my e-mail for when I'm having a bad day).

Alright. Short chapter, my apologies, but it is important. Hope you like it...

* * *

Erik had never performed chores with such a cheerful mood. He tidied up his home in an upbeat rush; as he cleared furniture, he envisioned Christine happily strewn out on that couch or lightly placing a book on this table and he even glanced by his bedroom door, forcing shameless thoughts to the back of his mind. 

Once his domicile was to his liking, Erik glanced again at his pocket watch and cursed silently; there was still over another hour until he would fetch Christine.

Christine herself felt the anguish of the slow passage of time. After brushing her copper locks, she picked up Erik's book again.

Mr. Darcy cared very much for Elizabeth Bennet but she eschewed him. Christine's heart bled for his crushed spirits, though she understood Elizabeth's basis for anger; if anyone had treated Meg so horribly, she would hold little esteem for that man. But he loved her, did that not redeem him at least in some regard? Christine was just reading about Mr. Wickham's true nature when Raoul came to the door.

"Christine? May I come in?"

"Yes, yes Raoul." She returned his smile as he stepped into the room.

"Are you feeling better?"

"Very much so, thank you."

He sat down on the wooden chair next to her bed. "I was wondering if you felt well enough to join me for supper this evening." His question hung in the air as Christine searched for an answer or rather an excuse.

"I don't know Raoul…I―"

"That's all right if you don't want to strain yourself. I understand." Raoul interrupted her before she could refuse him outright.

"Thank you Raoul, for understanding." Christine felt a mounding guilt in her chest but forced it down with a fake smile. He leaned over and bestowed the coldest unaffectionate kiss she thought possible on her cheek. He left before she said anything more and before he lost his close rein on his feelings; he wanted to beg her to love him again, he wanted to scream at her, he wanted to demand to understand how the nefarious Phantom had ensnared her (be it blackmail or some other heinous crime), he wanted to take her and make her irreversibly his, he wanted to break down and weep in his grief, he wanted to strike the Opera Ghost where he stood, but instead he walked as calmly out of the room as his conflicting emotions would allow.

Christine knew something was truly bothering Raoul but had little time to ponder on it as Erik emerged from behind the mirror. Her pure, radiant smile made his heart skip a beat. "Are you ready?"

She flung back the covers and placed her already shoed feet on the floor. "Let's go. I've been waiting since you left." He laughed at her enthusiasm and Christine found herself lost in the rich, rumbling tones then joining them with her own glee. Her playful demeanor rose to delight when he kissed her soundly and passionately and she pressed into him with equal ardor. Reluctantly, they broke the contact; Erik took her hand and led her behind the mirror to the twisting passageways. _Raoul never kissed me like that_, she thought guiltily. Soon, her thoughts were only absorbed by their twisting route through dark corridors. Erik held a torch before them but glanced back periodically as if to assure himself that it was no dream; both thought back to that night he had led her down the path to his home after her first taste of stardom.

Soon, Erik reached an unseen door and pushed it open. The last dregs of sunlight littered the sky as the sun set and the moon rose, nice, full, and bright. He led her further to a small area where he had hidden a blanket and a light meal. While he saw to the blanket, Christine unpacked the basket. They talked until the food was gone and their tongues had run dry.

She shivered lightly and Erik immediately placed his coat about her shoulders. They walked about the terrace, marveling at Paris in the moonlight. She pulled the coat closer about herself, Erik's warmth still captured in the material, and then the man himself wrapped his arms about her. She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder as he nuzzled his exposed cheek in her hair.

"Erik?"

"Hmm?" He smiled contentedly, rocking back and forth with her in his arms.

"Sing to me, please?"

"As you wish, my dearest. What would you like to hear?"

"Anything, everything." He hugged her to himself tighter.

"_Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime_."

She trembled slightly as his words saturated her senses. Christine turned in his embrace to stand in front of him still locked in his arms, looking into his face as his eyes sparkled and his lips moved hypnotically with his rich and heavenly voice.

"_Lead me, save me from my solitude. Say you want me with you here beside you_." He raised his voice dramatically. "_Anywhere you go, let me go to! Christine, that's all I ask of_―"

Erik never had a chance to finish his song as a rope whizzed through the air and settled gracefully around his neck.

* * *

(:laughs darkly:) Alright, I've been on the recieving end of SO many cliffies lately that I thought it was time to dish out a mild one of my own (my apologies if you personally have done no such thing). Poor Erik can never really finish that song... Anyway... I have the next section virtually ready for this one (and other story too for that matter) right here -:waves USB memory key:- I just have this dream of one day reaching 100 reviews... j/k ;) I won't wait that long but I would like to know if people are reading... 

Much love, all


	7. Life is Messy

I know I said I'd update soon but both fanfiction and my computer weren't exactly cooperating; that and I got jump started on another idea that I might post soon (as soon as I get something more substantial written on it.) Another shortish chapter this time but there's plenty of action and it just seemed the most logical breaking point.

**Warning**: Mildly malevolent Raoul in this chapter (not very bad but still there). If you are offended by the likes of such, I can redirect you to my other story where he is the dutiful spouse and sweet as always.

* * *

Last time: (with the song that can never be finished, for some reason or another)

**"_Lead me, save me from my solitude. Say you want me with you here beside you_." He raised his voice dramatically. "_Anywhere you go, let me go to! Christine, that's all I ask of_―"**

**Erik never had a chance to finish his song as a rope whizzed through the air and settled gracefully around his neck.**

Now, Chapter the Next:

* * *

With a rough yank, he was pulled away from Christine and he fell backwards. With imperial celerity, he ripped the cord from his throat and stood to face his attackers, ready to fight for himself and for Christine. Placing himself between her and the others on the roof, he watched carefully as the policemen continued to join their companions on the veranda. With a twist of his hand and a short display of legerdemain, he produced a dagger, threatening the hunters. The steel glinted in the moonlight and he glanced back at Christine, her eyes wide with surprise, before resuming his glare. 

"I thought I was the master of the lasso," he stated, cold and mocking, still unblinking in the face of his opponents. "I see no pressing need to kill any of you. Let us leave in peace."

Ropes soared in the air. Erik slashed what he could before one loop caught his wrist and flung the knife from his grasp as the officer pulled the rope taunt. Soon, his arms where pinned to his sides and his breathing grew shallow with the force pressing on his lungs. He stood there, bound with the ropes at all different angles, as a cloud eclipsed the moon's glow.

"Excellent job, men." Erik jerked his head toward the voice. _The fop_. Sure enough, Raoul sifted through the crowd and stood before him now. "You've just captured the infamous Phantom of the Opera." He lowered his voice, his next words were for Erik's ears alone: "You've degraded me at every turn. _You_," venom dripped from his voice, "You've challenged my decisions and dictated how _my_ opera house was to be run, you've humiliated me time and time again, but worst of all you've taken my fiancée. Christine is mine, you blackguard, humbug, creature, monster!" Raoul struck the defenseless man with all the strength he could muster, plunging his fist to Erik's gut.

Erik grunted and sank to one knee as Christine ran over with a strangled cry. She placed her hands on his shoulders and he straightened regally, though his mask was slightly askew. Christine reached up and pushed the mask back into place, to save him further degradation, before walking toward Raoul with the full intent to slap the smug grin from his face.

"And thanks is in order to you, my dear Christine. We couldn't have caught him without you leading him here. Capitol job."

She froze in her steps as she gasped and raised a hand to her mouth in horror.

"And I've been meaning to return this to you, my love." He placed his ring forcefully on her finger, ignoring the one she already wore, and kissed her cheek.

Immediately she turned to Erik; tears filled his eyes as he met hers. He looked away, clamping his eyes shut and clenching his teeth in unmistakable pain. He recalled bitterly that once he thought he understood pain, knew its worst form, but this was more, a wrenching force that constricted and shattered his very core. Tears spilled down his face and he made no effort to repress the sobs that racked his frame. _So close_. He'd come so close to finding joy in life, but now it was gone.

Christine could only watch as Erik broke, fractured, before her. Because of her. She ran toward him but he recoiled from her touch. He glanced at her, all the hurt in his eyes wrung her heartstrings as tears rolled down her cheeks, unheeded and unimpeded. There was a question in his endlessly blue eyes: _Why_?

She had to make him understand and she reached for him again, "Erik, I―"

He sat back, scraping as far as he could away from her, shaking his head as he grimaced and he continued to weep. Christine could bear no more and she turned her face away. She met Raoul's eyes with the same question: _Why_?

He made no attempt to answer her. "Come, Christine. This chill cannot be good for your health." He attempted to usher her inside but she shied away from his hand. She covered her eyes and left the dreadful scene.

Raoul watched her go, sorry to have pained her if not sorry for Erik's capture. He refocused his attention on the Phantom. He had won, it was over…but there was one thing he'd always wondered. Tentatively, he reached for Erik's mask.

Erik switched from wallowing in pain and self-pity to a vicious cornered animal. He snarled in his distaste toward the Vicomte, struggling and thrashing against his bonds. Had he only but strangled him earlier…but that didn't seem to matter now, he just wanted to hurt him, maim him, somehow. Through his spontaneous violent strain against his bonds, a few surprised officers dropped their ropes. Erik thrust his shoulder into the Vicomte, praying to send him over the railing for what he had done.

He got his wish.

Raoul toppled over the edge and Erik earned several cruel thwacks from the policemen's clubs. Blood tricked from his eyebrow and he felt the beginning of several new bruises but physical pain was nothing of real importance to him anymore.

"Help!"

Much to his chagrin, Erik realized that Raoul had not fallen to his death but had managed to cling to the edge. Erik curled up defensively, nursing his pain and knowing Raoul would retaliate once the policemen managed to pull him back over the side.

* * *

Christine was the image of cold, indifferent strength until her door closed quietly behind her and she collapsed into a helpless pile of tears. It had been a wondrous evening only to have her nightmares become reality. She had never seen this wrathful side of Raoul before, and she had never seen Erik so vulnerable or any man so broken. She wanted to hold him to her until his tears stopped but he shrank back from her touch now. This betrayal, though she never dreamed Raoul would do such a thing, was horrid, especially when the Vicomte had dared credit her with any part of it. _Erik thought I was a part of this_. Her tears started anew until her head throbbed. She looked around her, symbols of Erik and the past few days were scattered about the room. 

Raoul would come to see her soon, she was sure of it. Her face hardened as she made her decision. Hastily gathering all she could, she tripped the mechanism and climbed behind the mirror, praying her memory would not fail her.

* * *

**Author's ramblings**: Thank you again to everyone who's reviewed. Much love. 

What's to come: Raoul thoughts, Madame Giry's resolve, and... well, you'll just have to wait and see. Eh, what can you do about it? spank me and take away my birthday:)

Really hope you enjoy the story, I like writing it. Let me know what you think!


	8. Aftermath & Searching

I keep forgetting to put the disclaimer up at the top: Don't own the characters, I'm just borrowing them in a manipulation. Earning no money from this yadda bladda just the sheer enjoyment of writing. -:sighs contentedly:-

I **really** had planned to update sooner than this. :) A thousand hugs to the last group of reviewers! (reaches through cyber space **-:hug:-**) Thank you so much!

Shortish chapter and mostly from Raoul but there's some important stuff.

* * *

"What do you mean you can't _find_ her?" Raoul bellowed as he slammed his fist down on the desk.

The managers flinched but Andre spoke up in an unaffected voice, "Exactly that, Monsieur le Vicomte. After you reported she was missing from her chambers, the search party has looked since and they're exhausted."

Firmin joined in his comrade's cause with an indignant tone, "No one's found a trace of her and anger won't change that."

Raoul closed his eyes and settled back into the chair. "I suppose you're right," he stated, resignedly. The men left the room. He placed his fingers to his temples, lost in desperate thought.

Raoul almost regretted the extra measures he'd taken to insure the Phantom would be taken alive, to spare Christine the anguish of witnessing unnecessary brutality to her maestro. Once the police had pulled him back from an untimely demise, he'd been so shaken that he nearly passed out. After he'd regained himself, he'd marched over to the Phantom as he lay on the cold stone, shivering.

Erik's elegant demeanor was gone, marked by his tear-stained face and bloodshot eyes, and he seemed to take no notice as Raoul stooped down next to him, his face still white. _"How could Christine ever care for a monster? What made you think you could take her? You love her, don't you?"_ Erik made no reply except to meet the Vicomte's brown eyes; Raoul almost felt sorry then. Almost. _"Don't you!"_ Erik closed his eyes and winced slightly as he turned his head. Finding this as a sufficient answer, Raoul kicked his prostrate form brutally before ordering the police to take their prisoner. Yet before they carried Erik's limping body away, Raoul, caught in the craze and bitterness of the moment, ordered them to stop and faced his adversary once again; forcing Erik's downcast eyes up, Raoul removed Erik's last layer of protection.

Raoul gasped, too shocked to put the mask back on as they lugged the Phantom away. Once he regained himself for the second time, Raoul went off to find Christine to beg her forgiveness; delicate that she was, the entire ordeal was still a shock and overall too much excitement as evidenced by her distressed reaction. Then he prayed they could discuss a wedding date now that the last obstacle was gone.

But she wasn't in her room.

He scrounged all the forces that he could to find her and they'd worked through the night without success.

He struck the table again. Then Raoul picked up the mask from his desk and inspected it carefully.

"Monsieur le Vicomte?" Madame Giry walked into the room. "The Opera Populaire is in uproar. What is going on?"

"We caught _Erik_," his voice rang with distaste on the name, "last night, our Phantom. And now Christine is nowhere to be found."

Mme Giry raised her hand to her mouth as her eyes darted to the white mask in his hand. "Mon Dieu, truly?"

"Oui, we can't find her anywhere." Raoul rose from his chair and leaned against the wall, staring out the window.

Mme Giry did nothing to correct where her true concern lay, she had an idea as to where Christine would go to be alone, but there would be little mercy for Erik. She excused herself quickly, assuring Raoul she would tell him if she heard anything and only suffering minor guilt for the fib. So as not to arouse suspicion, she returned to her dancers and led them in her normal, grueling routine. She dismissed them early, many claimed fatigue as they were unlucky enough to be caught in Raoul's frantic search, not allowed to leave. She pulled Meg aside as the other dancers filed out: "Ma fille, tell the other dancers that there will be no more practice today. If anyone asks where I am, tell them I went home and am not to be disturbed."

"But Maman, where are you going?"

"I'm going to find Christine. Please just do as I ask."

"I promise, Maman. Be careful." Mother and daughter hugged before Meg dashed off to change and make her announcement to the other ballerinas.

Mme Giry walked cautiously along the stage and glanced around quickly before disappearing through a hidden door.

* * *

Hope you enjoyed the last installment. Love it or hate it, LET ME KNOW (...please?)

**What's to come**: Well, Erik of course. :) :P

Much love, all


	9. Cold, Dank Cells

_Today's my birthday! Yay! I'm turning 18! So I though I'd share the happy. _

_Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed! Sorry to keep you all waiting. -:shrugs sheepishly:- You guys rock my world:)_

_Much love, everyone._

_-bobmcbobbob1 (4/25/05)_

Yes, yes... what you've been waiting for (or at least most of the reviewers)... Enjoy!

* * *

Christine lifted the covers from a mirror and glanced at her rumpled appearance; her eyes were puffy and red and her hair lay in horrible disarray but she didn't really pay much mind to it. No, she still thought of her grief.

She returned to Erik's bed, where she'd spent the night, and wondered bitterly if fleeing to his home was truly the best of ideas; here his taste and presence only further reminded her that he was gone, likely to be sentenced to die within days. Christine found little rest that night. Each time she closed her eyes, she saw the last look he'd given her, with his pleading eyes and his bleeding soul.

She thrust the cover back over the mirror in disgust. _I should have done something but I just stood there. Then I ran. I left him. And Raoul…who's the real monster, Raoul? What have you done? _She ambled about his home, absently running her fingers over furniture as she passed, and eventually made her way back to Erik's room, drawing his coat around herself once more while still feeling those strong, comforting arms around her. Christine picked up the music box in the shape of a barrel organ, with the figure of a monkey in Persian robes, and wound the crank.

She sang wistfully along with the tune: "_Masquerade. Paper faces on parade, masquerade. Hide your face so the world will never find you. Masquerade. Every face a different shade, masquerade. Look around there's another mask behind you_."

"Very nice, Christine."

Christine whipped around at the sound of the voice. "Madame Giry, what are you doing here?"

"I could easily ask the same of you. The whole building was in uproar last night, or so I hear. Are you all right, child?" Her sympathetic tone caught Christine off guard and she squeezed her eyes shut as she sat heavily on the bed.

"They took him. Oh God, they took him. And Raoul did it. I—I didn't know what to do… It was a perfect evening and then they came. I don't know what to do. I just don't know what to do." Mme Giry sat down and wrapped her arms around Christine, rocking her back and forth as she'd done in years past when Christine had mourned for her father.

"There, there my dear. All hope is not lost."

Christine's voice was a mix of resignation and hysterics. "They'll kill him. They probably have him tied up in some dark room, chained and cold. They'll string him up for everyone to laugh. They'll kill him and I don't know what I'll do. I love him."

The simple truth escaped her lips and surprised her. Mme Giry's hand stirred and she pulled the girl to look her in the eyes.

"Do you mean that, Christine?"

She raised a shaking hand to her face and brushed her hair away. The thought slowly registered in her mind; she'd known all along. A small smile graced her lips. "Yes, I do."

"Then I think you ought to tell him. Come, let's go."

"How? Where?"

"Let's get you cleaned up first. I've some friends who can help us. We must not let anyone see you; the Vicomte is so desperate to find you he has only left to set a bounty."

* * *

In his stygian cell, Erik gently tested the strength of his bonds; the chains held firm. Cold, cruel metal encircled his wrists and his bare ankles. The dirty white shirt and coarse brown pants they had issued him fit poorly and itched nearly as bad as the burlap sack over his head. He was almost grateful for the rough fabric; curiosity was better than screams and outright revulsion. Resting his arms on his knees, he leaned his head against the stone wall, pulling the sack off to breathe normally and without the stagnant smell. 

He glanced at the fabric in his hand and ran his fingers over the roughly cut eyeholes. He caught sight of his arm in the sunlight the filtered through the bars of his cell; bruises ran up his arms in angry colors of purple and black. He inspected himself briefly, aware of new cuts and scars.

_Some scars hurt worse than others_.

Erik cursed himself for the thought. The taste of Christine's lips was still fresh in his memory; her kiss was still fresh when she betrayed him. Those scars would heal much slower, if at all. No longer did he fear death, he vowed he would welcome it, anything to cease this sort of ache. His chest constricted as he forced his tears back down, his bruised body screamed even with the minor effort; he would at least die with all the dignity and strength expected of the Phantom of the Opera, even if it was merely a façade.

Erik absently looked about his cell. A crust of bread lay next to him and he roughly smacked it away. "What's the _point_? What's left to live for anyway?" he grumbled to the empty room. He gave a fleeting look to the chains attached to his wrists; it would be easier just to finish it now. He rubbed his hand against his neck, wincing slightly at the bruise left from the rope that had started the whole thing, started the downfall of the Phantom of the Opera.

_No, my downfall was Christine_.

Erik released his grip on the chain deciding he couldn't end like that, the coward's way out. He would face it all with cold indifference.

Shuffling footsteps echoed in the dark and Erik hastily placed the bag over his face, eager to avoid any more attention; wallowing in misery is best done alone.

He held his head in his hands and stared at the stone floor, his chains clinked gently as he moved. The clanking of keys alerted his attention but as the door to his cell creaked open he retained his focus on the floor.

"Erik!" He inhaled sharply at that voice, _her_ voice, as his insides froze over. Christine darted to his side and knelt next to him. "Oh, Erik, I was so worried. I don't know what I would have done if―"

"If what? You'd probably be happy off and married to your precious Vicomte before I was cold in my grave."

Christine was shocked, his comment was harsh but the malice and resignation that caked his words frightened her more than she cared to admit. "Erik, that's not true I―"

"Isn't it, Christine? Isn't it?" His tone marred his voice and slashed Christine as sure as any dagger.

"Erik, I can't leave you here." Tears began to well up in her eyes. This man before her was stripped of himself, out of his impeccable evening garb and robbed of internal flame. She reached up and tugged lightly on the sack, certain that it was uncomfortable for him.

"Leave it!" he commanded in an icy tone. "Why shouldn't you just leave me here? Why, Christine? _Why_?" Slowly the ice melted from his voice and his raw, bleeding soul was before her.

"I had nothing to do with what Raoul did. Nothing. I would never do anything to hurt you, Erik. I love you."

He raised his head then, searching for her eyes through the roughly cut holes in the burlap before pulling it off his head and standing abruptly. His hair settled back to his head and he continued eye contact with the woman before him as she, too, rose to her feet. "Yesterday I would have given anything to hear you say that, Christine. Anything and everything. You're too late."

Christine wept openly then, throwing her arms around the broken Phantom. "You can't give up, Erik. We'll get you out of here somehow. I can't lose you."

Erik's resolve weakened and he tried to return the embrace only to find his arms too restricted by his bonds. She smiled faintly, understanding and appreciating the effort. Standing on her tip-toes, Christine gently kissed his lips and caressed his face affectionately. He turned fiercely, breaking away, as she stared up with questioning eyes.

"I allowed myself to believe it once, Christine. Don't do this to me again."

"Erik, I love you. I don't care about your face and I don't care what you've done, I care about you." Her tone turned pleading. "What do I have to do to prove it to you?" She held up her hand, the sapphire glittered even in the dim light and spoke in a quiet voice: "I will wear your ring until the day I die."

Christine moved closer to him and he cupped her cheeks in his hands. She raised a hand to his scarred face and with her voice shaking, choked by her own emotions, she sang softly: "_Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime._"

Erik froze; tears trickled down his cheeks and he paid them no heed as he again stretched against his bonds, wishing to bring her closer. "_Lead me, save me from my solitude. Say you want me with you here beside you_." She raised her voice dramatically caught in the passion of her words. "_Anywhere you go, let me go to! Erik, that's all I ask of_―" Christine's words were cut short, silenced by a welcomed interruption as his lips gently closed over hers.

"I believe you," was all he said. He kissed her again zealously, savoring the fiery sensation her touch shot through him. He ran his fingers through her chestnut curls, relishing that they were softer than he'd imagined. She wrapped her arms around him as she ran her hands up and down his back and he groaned softly, only partly due to his injuries.

"Christine, hurry!" Madame Giry's voice sounded the warning and interrupted the couple. Anxiously, Christine dove into her bag and pulled something out.

"Meg took this from Raoul's desk, she's always been a bit of a snoop. Madame Giry and I thought it might be of some comfort. It's better than a sack anyway."

Erik removed the cover then placed his half-mask over his face. Christine smiled; he was slowly regaining himself.

"But Christine, what can we do?"

"I don't know, we'll figure out something. We'll get you out of here." To seal her promise, she kissed him again.

"I love you, Christine," he whispered against her lips. Tears of happiness and relief rolled down her cheeks.

"I love you, too, Erik."

"Christine!" Mme Giry's voice rang out again as Christine hurried for the door, only to find it blocked.

"I should have known you'd come here, Christine." She froze as she recognized Raoul's voice.

* * *

_Yeah, again not the nicest place to leave off, but it's not too bad. :)_

_I only have one more chapter of this left -:sniff:- I really hope you've all liked it. _

_Please, let me know what your favorite part of "Playing Hooky" was. :)_

_And otherwise, you know what would TOTALLY make my day, consider it my birthday present(and lead me to post the conclusion (I was considering putting a bar but with my luck no one would respond) all that much sooner): Just click that little box down there, 2 seconds of your time, and **Love it or hate it, let me know!**_

_Thanks everyone, it's been a blast! (The latest project is "Once Bitten" which will be E/C if you'd like to check it out...sorry, shameless advertising.)_

_Take care!_


	10. Coming to One's Senses

_I'm sorry it's been so long. I'm in my last full week of school and all my teachers have been in the "what can I inflict upon these seniors?" or "what can I cram in before the end of the semester?" mindset so let's just say it's been hectic...although that's not much of an excuse since I've been updating the others. _

_I think I finally have the end figured out. _

_For this, the last chapter, I'm going to reflect back to the question posed at the begining of my first chapter: _I took it and ran with it. It's up to you to see if I made it to the finish line or I strayed off into the lake by accident.

_A hundred thank you's to: Christineerikmatchmadeinhell, Saphire Starlet, Dee, Sakura Moon, wendela, AJNemo, MagickAlianne, a.e.migs, twinlady, LostSchizophrenic, Midnight Tango, Clayphan16, and Allison. You guys rock my socks and again, sorry for the uber-late update._

_Please enjoy._

* * *

"I should have known you'd come here, Christine." 

She froze as she recognized Raoul's voice. Christine stepped back hastily as Raoul sauntered a few steps forward and into better light; Erik strained against his shackles with as much force as he could muster. In quiet tones, Raoul broke the silence: "Is there any way I can convince you to change your mind?"

_How long had he been standing there? _"No, Raoul." Christine walked up to the Vicomte and kissed his cheek lightly. "I'm sorry, Raoul." She took his palm and placed his ring there.

Raoul sighed, grimacing slightly as his hand closed around the ring. "I did it all for you, Christine. I thought if maybe there were no other obstacles… well…" He fought for a better way to explain himself but cut his stammering short. "If this is where your heart truly lays, Christine. With all the conduct of a gentleman, I will respect your decision." He took her hand and kissed it chivalrously. "It will be the hardest thing I'll ever have to do but I want you to be happy. As for you" ―he directed his attention toward Erik― "I expect you to treat her as the jewel she is. Anything less and I will see to you personally."

Erik's eyes widened in shock momentarily before he relaxed against his bonds, "I swear to it."

Both men nodded then Raoul turned and spoke to one of the guards: "Release him."

A large ogre of a man ambled forward and unlocked Erik's manacles. As if still disbelieving his situation, Erik watched the man warily and glanced at Raoul several times as if expecting him to announce it was all a farce and his cruel internal punishment would start all over again as the Vicomte stole Christine and laughed. But it didn't happen.

He numbly nodded to the guard, rubbing his wrists where chains had once held. He started to laugh then, softly at first as reality set in. Chuckling joyously, he opened his arms to accept his fiancée. He held Christine close, almost afraid to let her go. Tears of bliss streamed from his eyes.

"Thank you."

"Just watch over her," he replied stiffly.

"I will. I am a man of my word."

Raoul calmly walked out of the cell, unable to watch the joy he was denied. He was grateful that he had glanced out of the opera house window just in time to see Mme Giry and Christine head toward the prison; he had known then that Christine was lost to him. Something his grandfather had told him once resurfaced in his memory: "_If you love someone, let them go: if they don't come back, they were never yours; if they do come back they were always yours._"

Then he came to his senses; he would be no better than the man he called monster if he kept with this charade.

If he had any doubts, they were erased when he saw the majority of Erik and Christine's reunion from the jailer's office, just above Erik's cell (so as to watch the more dangerous criminals), while he made arrangements; it had taken longer for Christine and Mme Giry to sneak in than for the Vicomte de Chagny to walk through the front doors.

His heart was wrenched and bruised but he knew she would be properly cared for and happy. _That's all that matters_. He was a gentleman; no one said chivalry would be easy.

Regardless, Raoul made plans to return home for a short respite; there was still a lot to fully accept.

True to his word, he was walking through hell for Christine.

**_Epilogue_**

Happy was the day Christine Daaé and Erik Destler exchanged wedding vows. A lifetime of pain and bitterness erased from Erik's face when Christine looked into his eyes and swore she would stay by his side for as long as they both lived.

Dreams he once tossed aside as impossible for a disfigured creature such as himself now became reality. Erik composed and created. He invented and toyed with several ideas, earning patents. He published his music, winning royalties beyond what he could imagine. He drew and built glamorous and ingenious designs, taking the architectural world by storm.

But nothing could compare to the joy he took in sharing his music and his world with his loving wife. Christine continued to sing and her voice continued to mature; the couple spent countless evenings enjoying the music room of their new house on the Parisian countryside.

He pulled her close to him, relishing in the peace he had once thought unobtainable. Tenderly, he placed his hand on her swelling abdomen and Christine grinned back, brilliant with a maternal glow, before pulling her husband's head down for a kiss.

_Blessings take time_, he reflected, _but these miracles are forever_.

_**The End****

* * *

**(My biggest critique on this part was that I made Raoul too nice; he is a gentleman after all, once he remembers it.) Well, it's been fun everyone! _

**This fic is nominated in POTO Reader's choice awards in Alternate Reality; if you'd like to (if you feel this piece worthy), cast your vote. The link is on my Bio Page.**

There are some awesome fics on there, I'm happy to have been nominated. Though it's always been an aspiration to earn 100 reviews...sorry...end begging... :)

I'll still be around; I've got one more part on "Mending a Broken Soul" (R/C) and "Once Bitten" (E/C) is still going strong.

Again, thank you to everyone who's reviewed and/or read. Hope all's well on your side of the internet.

And please,** _Love it or hate it,let me know!_**


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